way to the door.
“Because we’re using his business to seek out a killer.”
She glanced back at the older man. “You think Gunny suspects who the killer might be?”
Griffin exhaled. “I think Gunny is bright enough to know there are a lot of really skilled shooters in the area—probably a handful of snipers, between the SWAT teams in the region and former military that have come back home following their service. Stands to reason our killer could be from around here or a transplant to the area. If he’s not local, he’s highly vested in keeping his and our vic’s identity concealed.”
The sun was beginning to set, and only a few vehicles remained in the dirt parking lot as they stepped outside, the air temperature a good ten degrees cooler than when they’d entered.
Finley turned to question Griffin about what Gunny might suspect, but his eyes widened and he suddenly grew still. Cocking his head slightly to the right, he squinted, studying the wooded slope to their right for the briefest of seconds before hollering, “Get down!”
Instinct kicked in and Finley dropped to the dirt, her elbows absorbing the brunt of the hit. What was happening? Panic seared through her like a knife fileting a fish—rapid and gut-wrenching.
Griffin rolled underneath the truck to her side and pulled her behind the wheel well, his arms holding her fast.
“What’s happening?” Her pulse whooshed in a frantic frenzy.
“Sniper, I think. Twelve o’clock. About eight hundred meters out.”
“A sniper? You don’t . . . ?” Of course it was him . What werethe chances another sniper would have them in his sights? “What do we do?”
“Get in the truck, lay low on the floorboard. I’m going after him.” He opened the door for her, helping her inside.
“You’re going to do what ?”
“Find out who’s tracking us.” He shut the door.
The truck’s floorboard was cold. The thickly grooved plastic mats pressed hard into her neck, arms, and legs as she lay curled up, wedged between the pedals and driver’s seat. Memories of being stuffed in a car’s trunk choked her, making it difficult to breathe. She fought to draw in a decent breath as cold sweat beaded on her skin. A chill washed over her, and her thoughts shifted to Griffin.
How could he head out after a killer? Did he possess no fear?
Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed.
Please, Jesus, let him be okay. Let us be okay. Help me to breathe. Help me to calm down. Help keep us safe.
She continued to pour her heart out in a rush, begging her Savior to protect them. Every minute Griffin didn’t return, the panic threatening to engulf her increased.
Please, Lord.
Griffin opened his truck door, and Finley bolted upright, knocking her head on the bottom of the steering wheel.
“It’s me.” He rested a reassuring hand on her arm. “Sorry I startled you.”
She rubbed her head, her limbs trembling. “Is he gone?”
He nodded. “It’s safe now.” He helped her up into his seat. “Let me take a look at your head. That was a pretty good conk you took.”
He brushed back her hair, cupping her face as gently as he could, her skin cold and damp beneath his touch. She was terrified.
“Let me get the truck warming.” He pulled his key from his pocket and, reaching around her, started the engine. Then he moved back to examine her forehead.
“What happened out there?”
“He was gone by the time I reached the place he’d set up.” A welt was already forming at the base of her hairline. “Let me see if I’ve got an ice pack in my first-aid kit.” He moved to grab it, but she clasped hold of his arm.
“How’d you know he was out there, watching us? Did you see him?”
“I caught a hint of light where a reflection shouldn’t have been. Besides that, I sensed him.”
“Sensed him?”
“It’s part of sniper training. You have to learn counter-sniping—learn to spot or sense your enemy.”
“Not to question you . . .”
He laughed.
“Because we’re using his business to seek out a killer.”
She glanced back at the older man. “You think Gunny suspects who the killer might be?”
Griffin exhaled. “I think Gunny is bright enough to know there are a lot of really skilled shooters in the area—probably a handful of snipers, between the SWAT teams in the region and former military that have come back home following their service. Stands to reason our killer could be from around here or a transplant to the area. If he’s not local, he’s highly vested in keeping his and our vic’s identity concealed.”
The sun was beginning to set, and only a few vehicles remained in the dirt parking lot as they stepped outside, the air temperature a good ten degrees cooler than when they’d entered.
Finley turned to question Griffin about what Gunny might suspect, but his eyes widened and he suddenly grew still. Cocking his head slightly to the right, he squinted, studying the wooded slope to their right for the briefest of seconds before hollering, “Get down!”
Instinct kicked in and Finley dropped to the dirt, her elbows absorbing the brunt of the hit. What was happening? Panic seared through her like a knife fileting a fish—rapid and gut-wrenching.
Griffin rolled underneath the truck to her side and pulled her behind the wheel well, his arms holding her fast.
“What’s happening?” Her pulse whooshed in a frantic frenzy.
“Sniper, I think. Twelve o’clock. About eight hundred meters out.”
“A sniper? You don’t . . . ?” Of course it was him . What werethe chances another sniper would have them in his sights? “What do we do?”
“Get in the truck, lay low on the floorboard. I’m going after him.” He opened the door for her, helping her inside.
“You’re going to do what ?”
“Find out who’s tracking us.” He shut the door.
The truck’s floorboard was cold. The thickly grooved plastic mats pressed hard into her neck, arms, and legs as she lay curled up, wedged between the pedals and driver’s seat. Memories of being stuffed in a car’s trunk choked her, making it difficult to breathe. She fought to draw in a decent breath as cold sweat beaded on her skin. A chill washed over her, and her thoughts shifted to Griffin.
How could he head out after a killer? Did he possess no fear?
Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed.
Please, Jesus, let him be okay. Let us be okay. Help me to breathe. Help me to calm down. Help keep us safe.
She continued to pour her heart out in a rush, begging her Savior to protect them. Every minute Griffin didn’t return, the panic threatening to engulf her increased.
Please, Lord.
Griffin opened his truck door, and Finley bolted upright, knocking her head on the bottom of the steering wheel.
“It’s me.” He rested a reassuring hand on her arm. “Sorry I startled you.”
She rubbed her head, her limbs trembling. “Is he gone?”
He nodded. “It’s safe now.” He helped her up into his seat. “Let me take a look at your head. That was a pretty good conk you took.”
He brushed back her hair, cupping her face as gently as he could, her skin cold and damp beneath his touch. She was terrified.
“Let me get the truck warming.” He pulled his key from his pocket and, reaching around her, started the engine. Then he moved back to examine her forehead.
“What happened out there?”
“He was gone by the time I reached the place he’d set up.” A welt was already forming at the base of her hairline. “Let me see if I’ve got an ice pack in my first-aid kit.” He moved to grab it, but she clasped hold of his arm.
“How’d you know he was out there, watching us? Did you see him?”
“I caught a hint of light where a reflection shouldn’t have been. Besides that, I sensed him.”
“Sensed him?”
“It’s part of sniper training. You have to learn counter-sniping—learn to spot or sense your enemy.”
“Not to question you . . .”
He laughed.
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